More Than Words
by dysphorite
Summary: CS AU where Killian and Emma are tumblr crushes who have never met... yet. It can't have been anything other than fate that lead him to her. When he clicked that button, opening up the page in a new tab, he never imagined what it had would begin. But, he knew better than to trust fate. At least that's what he told himself. Because suddenly there's light again in his world an


**A/N:** Thanks for reading, guys. Just want to apologise in advance because I've never been to university (yet) and I don't know how exactly things work and if it works the same in America as it does in the UK. And the legend of Yu Boya that I use in this is taken from Cassandra Clare's Infernal Devices series. Also, side note, I decided to post this in full rather than chapter by chapter, I hope that's okay! I hope you enjoy! :D

 _Chapter 1_

He saw it from below, hanging from the handle of an open window of an apartment on a building just off the avenue, spinning softly in an invisible wind, the feathers lifting gracefully on the upwards breeze, exuding an ethereal ambiance of peace that he hadn't know since... forever.  
He'd know it anywhere.

He had seen the very same, artfully captured image on a photograph posted yesterday by her. She had perfectly captured the gentle, lithe drifting of the feather. How it seemed ready to float away, dance into the endless skies above it, held back only by the thin piece of thread which tethered it down. She had captured the beautiful blue of the skies beyond the window at dust, the city structures cast into silhouettes by the dimming sunlight before the bought rays of the city population ruptured the skies with the sparkling illuminance of electricity.

It looked different in the chilled morning sky, from a thousand feet away. The Sun, from its position in the early hour sky, cast it in a different light. And of course, he was looking at it from below, a very long way below and not from just inside the window, looking out onto the skyline through the lens of a camera. _Her._

All of his thoughts kept coming back to it, like he couldn't quite believe it was happening in real life. He could imagine her now, a faceless figure par the silver chain around her neck with the delicate pendant of a swan resting in the indent of her throat. Though now, in his mind, it was hung forwards, swinging backwards and forewards as the figure bent her knees awkwardly and tilted her back forwards, neck up, contorting for the perfect angle for the shot. The perfect light that cast the light of the ring as it hung silently on the window-handle, the perfect silhouette of the buildings beyond the window. Vying for perfection. Always.

Like she needed to try.

She was perfection. She was the definition. The embodiment of living perfection itself.

 _Her._

He could imagine her, in the apartment behind that window right now. Making hot cocoa, reading a book, working on her dissertation, curled up in a blanket watching netflix..

 _Her._

It was really her. It had to be.

She had made it herself, there wasn't any other like it. He wouldn't mistake it anywhere. He couldn't.

He never thought this day would come. He'd tried to gather the courage to bring up the subject to her a couple times but her could never quite bring himself to. Messages bordering on down right flirtatious was one thing, _meeting up._ That was a whole other thing. And he didn't want to lose her, scare her off. It had taken long enough to get him to open up to her in the first place.

They had started off as mutuals, he had found her blog _runawayswan_ and it had struck him instantly, like a punch around the face sending him falling backwards into the ground. Every post, every picture, every word. The lines between them all spoke of the same thing. Grief. Loneliness. Abandonment.

Kindred souls.

He had known it from the very first click that had opened up the page on the screen of his laptop.

He hadn't known then, that he would be opening up a whole new world.

Her words spoke to him, cut straight through his masks and his walls, slicing straight through to his soul shedding light onto the darkness collecting there. In that moment it was like he was a snake shedding his skin. A transformation into a new self, a better self. Because of her. Everything he did now was -in some part- because of her. And not a day goes by that something happens that he wants to tell her about. Which he does, most of the time. He messages her constantly and he can practically feel the roll of her eyes at his lavishly charming language through the screen.

The transition from follower to Tumblr crush was instantaneous. Undeniable. Irrevocable.

In conceivable.

She didn't know. _Of course_ , she didn't know. It had taken him long enough to figure out himself. And honestly how could he tell her? She truly lived up to her URL. A proven flight risk on many occasions. Which was part of the reason she had so easily fallen into online friendship with him, because it was just that, online. She felt disconnected, unreal, unthreatened. And she'd told him as much. Though there were times she was still very guarded, hidden behind leagues of walls but he could practically read her like a book even without the added help of body language and demeanour. No, he could read her through her words, her heart, her soul written between the lines and she didn't even know it. He'd kept it quiet.

But now there was _this._

She was up there. Somewhere. Right now.

He'd be damned if he could resist.

She'd brought life, light, love back into his life without even saying a word. She'd pulled him back from the edge of darkness. Of pain and regret. Solace searched for at the bottom of a bottle of rum. And it was hanging in a breeze of the wind over the edge of the windowsill. Solace, love, hope and so much more.

And it was the shape of a dreamcatcher.

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _runawayswan huh? interesting name there_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _speak for yourself rollyjodger_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _you wound me swan_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _aw did the big bad pirate have his feelings hurt_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _sticks and stones swan_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _what is with your url?_

 _therollyjodger said:  
eh thejollyrodger was taken, i compromised_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _and that was your best option? therollyjodger? it sounds a drunken slur_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _well more times than not, it is_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _cant hold your rum captain?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _youre really into this pirate roleplay arent you swan?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _you wish_

The first time he messaged her, she didn't reply. When she had first gotten Tumblr she had made a promise to herself that she wouldn't get sucked into it. Have mutuals, make friends and all that. Well that had gone to scrap quite quickly, she went from casually scrolling down her dash for a few minutes to endless Tumblr sessions where 3:00 PM quickly faded into AM without her even noticing. But she was still wary, still cautious of actual online interaction. She was like that in person and no different online. And why should she be? People aren't different online. They still have the capacity to screw you over magnificently and the last thing she wanted was a creepy stalker. Which is what she made him out to be in the beginning, just another creepy stalker. She caved, eventually. Intrigued by his relentless messages and excessively poetic language. He made her smile, he made her laugh. And she found it is was easier online. The whole friendship deal. I mean, sure she didn't open up and pour her heart and soul out to him, but they were friends. Good, even great friends. In a weird way, she trusted him. There were days when she'd drag herself through the door of her studio apartment, kicking of the heels she wore for work and throw herself onto the sofa in defeat. Long days, hard days juggling university and the job she had just to pay her way. And just like that, just with one, simple message. Everything was better. He brightened her day on more than one occasion. Made her smile when she was swamped with her projects and essays. Made her laugh when she felt like crying from the stress of it all. And before she had a chance to process it all, she had come to rely on him. In a way she had swore she would never ever do again. She would open the door of her apartment with a creak and the first thing on her mind was checking her account, looking expectantly for that message and sure enough, without fail it would be there waiting for her. And the funny thing was, she didn't even realise it. How that feeling of friendship, had turned turned into belonging. How wariness had turned into excitement. How her mutual had turned into a Tumblr crush. Surely, somewhere in her mind she knew it. But she'd be damned if she'd ever acknowledge it. No, friends were all she could do. Online friends.

It was hot that morning.

She awoke with her covers thrown about her, tangled in a hot, sweaty mess around her legs. With a groan she disengaged from the sheets and dragged herself into the main room to the window and threw it open.

It was cold outside, chilly.

It was that time of the year, she shouldn't be surprised. In mid September it was warmer in the evenings and down right freezing in the next morning. Like the weather couldn't make up its mind. Even then, it was strange for her to wake up in a pool of sweat even with this changeable weather. Casting her mind back, she remembered. The tossing. The turning. The nightmare. She shivered in the welcome, cool breeze brought in by the newly open window. The feathers of her dreamcatcher hung here floated gracefully in the pleasant wind, dancing a swan lake on the invisible stage set by the unseen breeze. She leaned forward, resting her arms on the windowsill and dropping her chin down to sit on her arms. She looked out of the glass pane onto the sky beyond. The cacophonous drone of rush hour in the city drifted up through the window to her ears. The rude honk of cars breaking the morning chorus of birds hardened enough to survive the city. Sirens wheeling in the distance off to catch the criminal, fight the fire, save the life. She sighed, hauling herself upwards. She didn't have any lectures of seminars today, only working on her dissertation and her job in the evening. She didn't necessarily have to get ready now, drag herself through the morning routine. Shower. Clothes. Breakfast. Uni. Job.

For now, she could drop back into her bed and try to forget the nightmare in her wake of her slumber.

Well... she could try.

 _Chapter 2_

He didn't go up the first time he saw the dream catcher. The sign that pointed to her like a flashing light. Stared for a moment, yes, but act on this new information, no. He knew what Swan was like, if he just randomly appeared before her she would defect immediately to defence mode, walls up, shut out, run away. So for another week he walked past the dream catcher, glancing up every time he passed. One day he would talk to her, maybe work up the courage to go meet her. But for now he was content just to continue just as they were before, talking to her online and walk past the dream catcher on his way to work. He knew it was there now, the memory of it was engraved into his mind even when the window was shut tight, which was happening more frequently now owing to the increasingly chilly weather. But he knew it was there, just behind the cold glass of the window. And somewhere beyond it, she was there too. And the funny thing was, he must have passed this building a thousand times before without knowing, without realising how close she was. He was close enough to shout up to her like a modern day Romeo up to the balcony on which his Juliet stood, utterly in love with him. He could throw stones on her window like a teenage boy in a novel of film. He was turning into an archetypical, pebble-throwing, brooding male love interest. He was turning into one of the characters in the stories he writes.

Killian was a writer. Well. That was partially true. He had done some work on a screenplay that had gotten some attention back in university and won an undergraduate prize for his short story _"At Sea"_ in his final year but whatever spark of imagination, whatever fuel his drive for writing was running had dwindled down to almost nothing now like a car running on empty on a climbing hill and ending up instead rolling backwards.. Now, he was taking a break, trying, searching for even a shred inspiration that would give him the motivation for something new. Something different. He was thinking of trying out a longer novel but then he couldn't decide what to write about, which direction to go in. The words were all a jumble of abandoned ideas and forgotten lines in his head that couldn't find a direction to go in. _She_ helped. When he was talking to her he somehow felt more... relaxed, at ease, more himself so he could write something half decent in between talking to her. He gave her something he had lost in the tolling workload of university, hope, inspiration, something to live for, everything he needed to write and even write well. His time in university wasn't, well, his best to say the least. It was like her presence opened some gates emitting the endless flow of words in through his head and onto the empty page sat before him. That she broke down the block inside his head He wrote a lot, never a full novel, sometimes short stories which he would post on Tumblr. With her, it just... worked. He got a good response on all of his stories, even so that he was even thinking about creating a collection of the better ones and trying to get that published. But somehow, it still wasn't... _it._ Something about it didn't feel quite _right._ He wanted something longer, something more real, something him, something that _meant_ something. He knew what he wanted. He wanted to write _her_. Wanted to write for _her._ He just wanted _her._ He was in love with everything he stood for, everything she was was everything he wanted to write about, to express in a sweet prose and words that would move the very heart and soul. Most of all, he wanted his words to reach her. He wanted to reach her. More than anything else in the world. But now that she was I reach, she felt more unreachable than ever.

 _runawayswan said:_

 _what is it that you do jodger?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _curiosity finally got the better of you swan?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _maybe that or maybe i'm just trying to get a good judge of your character so the judge has enough to go on for the restraining order_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _ah now swan you wouldn't do that now would you? admit it you like me too much_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _just answer the question pirate_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _i'm something of a writer_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _you dont sound too sure of that_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _well perhaps im not. I may have considered myself something of a writer once but since then the spark has gone_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _writers block_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _is it writers block when youre not even a writer_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _do you write?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _yeah_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _have you written before?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _well yeah_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _then youre a writer_

 _therollyjodger said:  
but I havent written anything half decent since uni_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _doesnt matter youre a writer. all you need is a bit of inspiration_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _am I mistaken or was that a proposal swan_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _just shut up and let me help_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _fine fine now where do I start?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _start with something you know, someone, some memory, something that moved you_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _you_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _jodger..._

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _im serious_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _i'm not worth the story_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _now thats not true_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _wouldnt you like to know_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _yes... I would_

She was a musician. Well, she was _trying_ to be anyway. She was mostly working on her dissertation these days, either that or work. But it was still what she wanted to be, since forever. When she was younger, in her first home, her foster parents had won these tickets to the theatre. It was a ballet, Swan Lake she thinks, but throughout the performance all she saw was the pianist. Rather than the poised and graceful movements of the prima ballerina, the deft, precise movements of her fingers upon the keys accompanying the languid, sweet harmony that the violinist provided held her transfixed. From that moment she was inspired, driven to learn the beautiful melody of the violin and piano, her foster parents took pity on her and were charmed by her child-like motivation so got her lessons on the piano. She took to it like a natural and soon mastered it, going on to master the violin and, in addition, the guitar. Somehow, she managed this despite jumping from place to place where sometimes her foster parents would delight in her musical prowess, sometimes where they accepted it begrudgingly, and sometimes where they out right hated it. She remembered vividly her last foster home before university, the way her foster parents would pound upon the ceiling below her, shouting to stop the awful din of her practising. Despite all of this though, she made it. The day she had gotten the letter she had cried with happiness.

 _Dear Miss Swan,_

 _We are delighted to inform you..._

For the first time ever she saw a future for herself, one she never thought was possible, one she never thought she was capable of. When she had sent off the letter months before, when she had gone to the audition, she was sure that it was only because the admissions team took pity on the orphan girl from the foster homes trying to get into university.

… _in response to your outstanding application and excellent audition.._

She was sure she had only gotten the audition out of obligation. But she had gone none the less, and against all odds, she got in.

 _...accepted for a position at our university..._

New York University. A future. A life. Hope.

It was more than she could have ever hoped for, no longer did she have to flit from home to home where she was only a meal ticket. No more did she have to live vicariously through books and shows on netflix.

 _...qualify for an AnBryce Scholarship..._

This was so much more than an opportunity for an education she had always dreamed of, this was her chance for a life, one of her very own. Of course, she accepted right away.

… _to accept this offer please fill out and send back the form below..._

A place at NYU on an undergraduate course of Music Composition and Performance, and it had her name written on it.

 _Emma Swan_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _joyce_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _excuse me?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _margaret?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _what the hell are u doing?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _guessing your name swan_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _really?_

 _Therollyjodger said:_

 _so no to margaret then?_

He needs her.

More than anything else, he needs her now. So when he crossed the street that morning, he was tempted, inexplicably so. It took every fibre of control in his being to force his feet not to grow roots in the spot outside her apartment building, beneath her window. And still he didn't move. Instead he stared, brow furrowed, so fiercely you would've though his eyes would burn a hole in the window above him. His expression spoke of his inner turmoil and conflict as he held himself back from grabbing a pebble from the pavement and throwing it to tap on the window..He was giving himself a headache. His mind encompassed nothing outside the domain of that window, of her. He saw nothing outside the window, only the harsh, bright sunlight reflecting back off the glass and piercing dazzlingly into his retinas. The lights flashed behind his eyes, blocking out anything other than the window. He heard nothing other than the beating of his heart and the voices in his head telling him to go up, to not go up, to stay, to leave. Until another voice of broke his dream like state and hurtled him back, begrudgingly into reality.

"Is it someone you know?" it was the voice of a woman, calling to him from his right.

"E- excuse me?" he stammered in reply, shock running through his body, disturbing his senses. The impression of light still burned within his eyes, making it difficult for him to entirely focus, to properly see the vision before him as he tore his eyes away from the window. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the new light, dulling so he could see now the woman before him. She was on the short side, slim, with a kind, elegant face that reminded him of elves and the fae, and murky green eyes the colour of the woods full of fern and leafy trees. Her hair was thick and shoulder length, also on the short side, with a slight wave and frizz to it that shone in the light like a kind of halo from where it was pulled back in a French braid.

"Up there, behind the window. Is it someone you know?" she repeated with a smile. In her hands she held a flower, a white rose, and upon closer inspection he now saw that there were snow drops peeking out between the strands of her ebony hair.

"Oh, er, aye. Well, in a sense, we've never actually met" he scratched behind his ear, feeling heat rise in his cheeks in his embarrassment.

"Is that so..." she mused speculatively as she turned around to fiddle with something behind her, "it's just, I've seen you standing here, everyday now for weeks now, and you always stop, each time without fail, and stare up at that exact window"

"Observant, lass I see"

"No, well not really, or usually. I just work here, you see, and I often happen to be arranging my stock for the morning each time you pass" she protested good-naturedly, turning back to face him.

He arched his neck, beyond her was a line of delicately arranged flowers sitting in water. Lilies, Roses, Petunias, Forget-me-nots, Snow drops. A flower for every occasion. Finally glancing upwards, he understood.

"Ah, a florist"

Behind the line of flowers was a large, glass pane besides the unmistakable entrance to a shop, with flowing font upon it reading:

 _Snow White -flowers even in the harshest of Winters_

"Yeah... that's me" she smiled again, and he understood how she'd come up for the name of her shop, "my name's Mary Margaret Blanchard, but you can call me Mary" she held out a hand for him to shake, which he took gladly.

"Killian Jones" he returned the smile.

"Well Killian, I think I can help you"

"How's that?" his brows furrowed.

"Would you prefer a white rose, or a Daisy. Oh no, perhaps a Snow drop? Personally they're my favourite"

"Hold on, I don't quite follow" his frown deepened as a mischievous grin overtook her face, reminding him more and more of some kind of pixie, as she turned her back to him again, beginning to fuss over something that he couldn't see, only hearing the sound of rustling, "What on Earth do I need a flower for?"

"Why for her of course" she turned back to him with a mocked innocent expression.

"Are you telling me that you know of a way to get something to her?"

"Why, of course, she is my best friend after all. And no harm can be done by a little, anonymous flower left on her doorstep now can it?" he expression turned devious once again, "Now what'll it be?"

The smile that grew on Killian's face was downright devilish.

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _so give me some favourites_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _what_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _believe it or not swan, I want to get to know you, now give me some favourites_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _like what_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _like I don't know... flower_

 _runawayswan said_

 _you want to know what my favourite flower is?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _absolutely_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _fine. I guess would have to be a rose_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _how original_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _a white rose_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _specifically white?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _I hate clichés yes specifically white NEVER give me a red rose_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _or youll roll your eyes_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _or ill throw it in your face_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _duly noted_

 _Chapter 3_

There was a flower on her doorstep.

She had just gotten home from a long day at work, some kid had spilt a j2o all over her front and while she had smiled politely, profusely battling the family's apologies with "It's fine"s and "No harm done"s, now Emma's clothes were all sticky and stained. She hadn't a spare uniform with her at the time so she couldn't wash it off with water. And do it was disgusting, she could smell the orange and passion fruit from here.

 _Why,_ she thought to herself as she dragged her aching limbs up the flight of stairs, _did the kid have to be drinking the stickiest, smelliest flavour j2o of them all?_

When she made it to her door, she almost didn't see it. She was too busy fumbling for her keys and trying not to fall over in her absurdly tall heels -she only wears them because they get her higher tips, it's a sad truth but she needs the money. In her abstraction, she almost trampled the lone flower sitting patiently on her doorstep. But in the end, it was _because_ she was fumbling for her keys that she saw it, because she was looking down. It caught her peripheral vision in its stark contrast to the dark wood flooring of the apartment complex. Emma's eyebrows knitted together in confusion as she managed to crouch down to gently lift it in her hand, wobbling slightly in her heels and her shoulder-bag falling from down to her arm in the process.

It was beautiful. Perfect and pure. Not a petal out of place save for the single white petal that lay fallen on the dark wood of the floor.

A white rose.

She was so transfixed that she had forgotten the most famous feature of roses, their thorns. A small hiss escaped her lips as the sharp thorn pierced her skin, raising the offended ligament to her lips to stem the small bubble of dark blood that had began to seep from the puncture. Emma straightened and, still holding the rose delicately, opened the door to her apartment, chucking her bag immediately onto the sofa and closing the door with her back, leaning against it as she kicked off her heels, still with unmoved from the white rose in her hands. Few people knew that her favourite flower was a white rose, it seemed that not many people expected it, or laughed at her when she told them (because, for some reason, the fact that her favourite flower was a white rose is hilarious?) so she had stopped. She told most people now that her favourite flower was a daisy, and it was true enough. Her second favourite flower was a daisy. She even had the tattoo of a small daisy on the inside of her right wrist. In the end, she had chosen that over a white rose because, while the rose was her favourite, it was such a basic and typical tattoo for a girl to get, she couldn't stand it. But she can't deny that it's her favourite.

The white rose stood for more than just romance or love. The white rose was pure, untouched by the the corrupt, cruel word. It was a symbol of survival, that something so pure and innocent can still survive the harshest winters and the corruption of industrialisation. It transformed itself, changed itself to survive the harsh world. To protect itself. It grew thorns to defend itself from predators and outsiders and people that wanted to hurt it and if they tried, they bled.

The symbol of the white rose touched her at a deep level that reached her very soul. It was like the white rose understood her, represented her, a symbol of all she had been through. A reflection of herself.

In the small, glass vase that she drew down from a tall shelf in the small, kitchenette, she saw herself reflected. Tired, beaten down, but surviving.

She filled the vase with water and tenderly placed the rose into it. Setting it down in the centre of her windowsill, Emma smiled.

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _were those flowers I saw swan?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _what are you even on about_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _dont be coy I saw the pictures you posted_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _you know you didnt strike me as a flower kind of girl swan_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _everyone likes flowers_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _is that so?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _it is_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _well come out with it then, who is it from? an admirer perhaps?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _get over yourself pirate its from a friend_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _is that what theyre calling it these days_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _seriously. a have a friend whose a florist jodger_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _a 'friend'_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _yes a friend_

Mary Margaret smiled knowingly at him at his instant, firm choice of a white rose above the generally favoured red rose or lily. She was well aware that he could turn out to be a stalker, or an assassin, or... well anybody, but Mary Margaret considered herself to be a good judge or character. And honestly, anybody who had seen the way he would stare longingly upwards to the window could tell that he wasn't just some creep. She had watched him do so, each morning for weeks now. Always staring, never going up. She knew that it was Emma's window that was the object of his perusal, for it could not be any other, his gaze was quite clearly, and quite obviously set upon that dreamcatcher that from time to time flew free in the wind when Emma had opened the window. The strength of his gaze seemed, to her, to capture a deep seated longing for acceptance, for love and a home, for _her._ Each day without fail he would stop, he seemed to be battling some inner conflict as he laboured under the window each morning. And each time he seemed to have to all but force himself from going up to her or at least doing something. Mary Margaret saw it all. And his deliberating each morning spoke something of an understanding of Emma that deemed him alright in _her_ books at least. He seemed to understand her, at least well enough to know that storming up there would, more likely than not, get him worse than nowhere with Emma. It probably would, in fact, bring him a few steps back.

If he suspicious were, indeed, correct, than this man was none other than the guy she speaks to online every day that she _refuses_ to call a crush. Even though that was, without a doubt, what he was, a crush. Emma had told her enough about him and his reply to her question of whether he knew Emma or not seemed to confirm the fact. It was the man himself, in the flesh.

So she helped him out,

And, honestly, what harm could it do? Mary Margaret only wanted her friend to be happy, and this man seemed to make her so even without actually being there, as much as she tried to deny it. Mary Margaret noticed the way Emma would constantly check her phone -no doubt for messages, from him- when they were out. Noticed the way she beelined for her laptop the moment she got in each time Mary Margaret was with her. And most of all she noticed the smile, and even laughs, that would transform Emma's face everytime she read one of his messages. Her eyes lit up with blissful joy and a beautiful, dazzling smile transformed her face from sullen to happy in only a second. She saw the effect the man had on her online. She could only imagine the effect on her in person. She wanted Emma to be happy, and this man seemed to be Emma's path to that. So a little nudge wouldn't hurt. Mary Margaret could tell without even knowing the guy, it was meant to be. All she had now was to hope.

He shouldn't be surprised when she lies and tells him a friend gave her the flower. What else could she have said really? And it was an anonymous gift so it would be perfectly reasonable for her to presume that it was a surprise from her florist friend who only lives around the corner. So he shouldn't be surprised when she lies and tells him that it was from a friend. He shouldn't be disappointed. He tells himself this, he knows this. But still, there is a overwhelming feeling of disappointment that washes over him, looking at the messages she lent blazing brightly on the screen in front of him, a testament to his emotions. He visibly sags, as if suddenly drained of all energy, he was bone-weary. He can't go on like this. He surely can't stand more weeks that pass in much the same way that the last have. This separation is killing him, eating him slowly from the inside out. Draining him off everything but his thoughts and he can't think of anything but her. He can't sleep without thoughts of her drifting across his mind, he can barely go a minute without thinking of her and it's starting seriously show. There are bags under his eyes and his movements are becoming more and more sloth-like. And his work is beginning to suffer for it. This surely can't go on.

But what other choice did he have?

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _so how's your day been miss swan?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _miss?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _sorry, mrs?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _ha. not a chance._

 _thejollyrodger said:_

 _I knew it!_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _ah, but do you?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _what_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _how do you even know if i'm a girl or a guy? Hm?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _hope? blind faith?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _luck_

Of course it was Mary Margaret who gave her the flower. Who else would it have been? No one else knew what her real favourite flower was, and no one else was a florist who lived just by her apartment building in the loft above her shop _Snow White._ She was actually on her way to meet her friend that day, a couple days after the j2o incident, the inpromptu performance and the unexpected gift, so they could have lunch together. They met up like this at least once a week, Emma would come down in between work and lectures to meet Mary Margaret, who would close up her shop and they would go together to a café or a restaurant and catch up. Otherwise it was difficult to keep up a friendship between work and university and everything else that was going on and their friendship would just become lost in the background; which was the last thing Emma wanted to happen. When she had decided to finally make the move from dorms to living alone, studio apartment in the big city she didn't really have many friends, she felt scared and even a little vulnerable when she found herself suddenly not surrounded by fellow students and out in the big, wide world where anything could happen. And then there was _him._

Honestly, Emma didn't know how she could ever had gotten through it all without Mary Margaret.

Because when she'd finally left the dorms, she hadn't left alone.

His name was Neal. Neal Robert Cassidy.

A name that would eventually be used in the same way a name is used to refer to a hurricane. Because, just like the devastation brought by a hurricane, he ruined her.

When he first breezed into her life, it was like someone had turned on the light in the darkness or suddenly woken her up from a hazy dream that came from being alone. And, of course, she was wary at first, cautious, like slowly edging to the end of a plank and then suddenly someone rattles the edges and your thrown head first, blind into the dark, bottomless ocean. That was what falling in love with Neal was like. Nothing and then everything.

She had everything. He was everything.

They understood eachother, they talked, they laughed and what more did she need? He'd come and pick her up from work and drive her home, one arm slung lazily over her shoulders gently massaging her shoulder as they drove. They'd watch Disney films together, Brave, Snow White, Peter Pan. He'd stay over. They joked, they hugged, he'd laugh, she'd smile, they'd kiss. And, God, she loved him. She loved him. Like she never thought she could, they she never thought anyone would, more than she knew she should. But she did. And it was everything. He was everything.

Everything then nothing.

He didn't pick her up from work that day.

Okay, that was fine. He couldn't always pick her up. Neal had responsibilities too, his own degree to think about, Psychology and Criminology wasn't an easy course, so of course he wouldn't always be able to pick her up. She knew that. He was probably working on an essay, or in a seminar, or a study group. She checked her phone. Nothing.

So she made her own way back, she didn't mind walking. The city streets didn't scare her any more, she loved the city at night. She loved the calm, quiet ambiance of blue hour. When the bright lights were just turned on and the vivid blue of the sky cast everything into a similar shade and the streets were more empty, less of a buzz. She loved cool breath of the air and the whoosh of the cars and the occasional bats flying over her head. She loved the city at blue hour, though she'd be living if she said her pulse didn't quicken and he eyes didn't dart about anxiously when she walked past and alley or even the slightest suspicious looking man. But she didn't mind, she was just tired. When her feet finally made it up the flights of stairs and her door was in slight, relief swarmed her body and she sighed appreciatively when her key finally turned in the lock and-

nothing.

When she turned on the lights, her apartment was near empty. Only the essentials remained. She ran her eyes over the room.

TV- gone. DVD Player- gone. Radio- gone. Computer- gone. Her violin.

Oh God. No. Oh _no_. _Her violin._

She ran over to the corner by the window, collapsing into a pile to the floor, her bag skidding over the smooth surface of the wood, falling from her shoulder as she ran her hands desperately over the surface to find-

nothing.

It was gone. Her precious, most precious, her everything in the world violin was gone.

And Neal?

She supposes now that he knew she'd find the note there, in the empty space where her violin once sat. One word- _sorry._

Nothing could have prepared her for that. He was her everything, she had everything. And when he left, he took more than everything. She supposed that the only reason her piano was still left was because the thing was too damn heavy and awkward to sneak out of the apartment. _Sneak._

Theft. Robbery. Betrayal.

Oh, how it had stung. How it had hurt. She'd torn the note up in angry fits of sobbing as she tore herself apart in heartbreak, grief, betrayal, everything that was gone now swarming in her chest cutting up her heart in her chest, dissolving it into bitter, salty tears with fell in streams from her eyes. Doubled over on the floor, screaming mercilessly, her heart torn from her chest, nothing left. Only pain, only grief, only broken trust and a broken heart to match. It tore her to pieces like the weak, weak paper of his note over and over again until she thought she couldn't breath. Couldn't think. Couldn't live any more. So much, too much pain; emotional pain, physical pain. Every muscle screamed at her over her tears and fits of sobs, her lungs felt constricted and she suddenly needed air, she needed to breath again. Clumsily rising, she dragged herself slovenly to the window and pushed it open, hearing the noise of the city break through into the room she collapsed onto the windowsill, once more into fits of sobs and anguished tears and cries of pain until-

"Are you okay?"

She coughed, startled from her sobs and raised her head. She blinked, staring at the nothingness now outside her window save for the electronic shine of the city night life. Blue hour had faded now into the dark, black of night. She looked around the room. Nobody. No, this voice seemed oddly to come from beyond the window.

"Hello?"

The voice called again, gentle but loud enough to reach her apartment. And feminine, with just enough of that motherly care and concern. Emma rose up onto the toes of her feet and looked down into the streets below. She blinked. Standing below her fifth story apartment, she could make out a woman, standing below the shining light of a streetlamp illuminating dark, ebony hair cut short like a pixie, pulled back from her face with a clip and a face etched with the lines of worry staring up at her.

"Are you okay?" she asked again.

It puzzled her, to say the least. A complete stranger. A perfect stranger, showing such kindness, such worry for someone she doesn't know at all. Emma could be anyone for all she knew. A terrible person, a criminal. But here she was, staring up at her with nothing but concern and kindness on her face, such kindness and concern that Emma had never known.

"Yeah... I- I'm fine" she called back. Her voice was rough and hoarse from crying, broken from her sobs and still quiet from her disbelief. But the woman heard her, the still quiet voice.

"No, you're not" she said, matter of fact.

Emma didn't lie.

"No... I'm not"

"I'm coming up"

She came up.

After she found her apartment, she helped Emma to her feet. Literally and figuratively. She picked up the pieces Neal had left behind. The pieces of her heart and the pieces of her life. Helped her replace the things he'd stolen, giving her furniture, helping her out. Giving her everything she could, holding her hand during the relentless questions of the police, comforting her sobs, making her hot chocolate. Just _being_ there, bringing light back to her life. Doing everything she could for her. And when her birthday came around, none other than a beautiful, hand crafted violin with the name Emma engraved into the shining, polished wood at the side. Emma had never asked for this. Never expected it. Never thought she'd wanted it. But now that it had somehow made its way to her. She couldn't imagine life without it.

Life without a friend.

 _Chapter 4_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _have you ever been in love_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _everything alrightswan?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _just wondering about love_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _what about it_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _if it even exists_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _it exists_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _youre so sure?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _have ever been in love swan?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _no... i dont think i have_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _when you have been, youre sure_

"How's your dissertation going?" she said as they moved away from the counter, manoeuvring through the crowds to an empty corner by the window with sofas looking out onto the busy street. The falling pelts of rain could be heard through the thin glass separating them from the outside world, calming Emma's unquiet mind and fraying nerves. She sighed as she dropped down into a seat by the window, the pillow cushioning her aching back. Staring out of the window, she was suddenly fascinated by the pursuit of two drops of rain racing down the cool glass which was slowly steaming up from the heat of the indoors. Autumn was well nigh now and Emma was glad for it. Though she wasn't glad that the deadline for her dissertation was also well nigh. She had to hand it in by next week, the first of October, or it was three years of nothing.

"I'm actually almost done" Emma mumbled, resting her cheek lazily on her hand, taking a sip from her drink in its Styrofoam cup and wincing at the scalding heat, burning her tongue, "God, do they have to make these things so damn hot? It's practically undrinkable" she added to herself.

Mary Margaret sipped her tea politely, perched on the sofa diagonally across from her.

"But, that's great! Why do you sound so... disappointed?"

Emma sighed again.

"Because it's nothing that I'm really proud of, or excited about" she grumbled.

"Hm... remind me again, what do you have to do for this?"

"Well, you know I'm taking musical composition and performance right?" Mary Margaret nodded, "Well for this, my final, assignment I have to compose a long piece with my instrument, or instruments of choice and then produce a 10,000 word essay, dissertation, on it"

"And you're finding it... difficult?"

"Yeah..."

"But, Emma, you love your music! You've never had any problems with this before and you're top of the class in your essays, what changed? Is it the dissertation itself?"

"No, it's actually the music this time"

"What about it?"

"I can't find anything, can't compose anything that _means_ something. Something that speaks to me, something that reaches out and grabs you and holds you there, so you can see the music dancing around you. When a composer writes a piece of music with..." Emma struggled for the words to explain, "-with everything they have, with every emotion inside of them, it speaks for them in the music. The world fades away, it's like the musician has taken a paintbrush and painted a canvas over the world with their music and they take the listener on a journey to places in their mind, places they've never been and only when they understand the music are they taken wholly into the player's world purely by the music. When I was younger and in the foster system, I didn't have much but there was one thing, I don't remember how it came to me, only that it was mine and it was never taken from me. It was a book, a story book called _The Legend of Yu Boya._ It told how Yu Boya was a great player of the qin who would play for his best friend, Zhong Ziqi, a woodcutter. And the legend is that when Yu Boya played a song of water, his friend could tell instantly that he was describing the rushing rivers, and when he played of the mountains, his friend could see the snowy peaks and the rocky edges and Yu Boya would say to him "It is because you understand my music". That's what I want. I want people to hear me, I want them to listen and see the places I've been, to feel the things I have. I don't want my music to just be a sound, I want it to be a journey that I take them on, I want them to _feel_ my music. Not just hear it. I want them to feel it in their souls, not just their ears. Because music is _more_ than just notes on a page or sounds in your ear. Music is beautiful, transcendent. Music speaks to your souls and lets you feel your deepest, darkest emotions at their rawest, at their very core without being afraid. Music is an open book with words streaming in sounds off the page, drawing you out of the world for a moment and into a realm of enchantment where the world around you is painted by the strokes of a melody, a chord. Music is more than just sound. Music is life, hope, beautiful, untouchable. And each time you play, each time you feel that. You're reborn"

Emma's voice drifted off into the calming echoes of the rain that slowly flooded back to her ears with the falling raindrops that were now back in her vision.

Mary Margaret was quiet, but after a time, she spoke in a small, soft voice-

"Emma... put all of that into your music, your dissertation, and you can't lose"

 _Don't look up. Don't look up. Don't look up._

With each long stride he took he repeated the mantra in his head. He never thought his morning walk to work would become such a challenge. What's worse is he didn't even _have_ work today, there was no real reason he had to take this route, is was by no means the quickest or the most direct but here he was. Striding down the street with his head set firmly on the pavement below him. He must look like he was on his way to murder someone, he thought. His eyes were storm ridden to match his sour expression, jaw set, muscles tense, hands in fists at his side and brow slightly furrowed all demonstrating the absolute control is was exerting -or at least trying to exert- over himself.

He failed. It was inevitable really.

The window was just the same as it always was, he could just about see the dreamcatcher hanging on the inside of the window. Rather than it being early morning, this time, when he walked past the window, it was midday. Which meant the Sun wasn't quite glaring off of the clear glass and he could make out the stark white feathers of the dreamcatcher inside of the window. As the weather grew colder as September wore on, her window opened less and less frequently. Though on occasion, with the taciturn weather of early Autumn, the window was opened and the dreamcatcher once more spun in the breeze, feathers drifting majestically in the air. He tried not to linger, but once more he failed, pressured by a deep seated longing. A desire so pure and strong that -if it weren't for his head getting in the way- he would be pulled by an inexplicable force from the pavement and up to her room with a hand raised to knock upon her door. He shook away the thought, tearing his eyes from the window and striding on, past the florist's which he now knew was Mary Margaret's and was, at this time, closed, and eventually into the bar where Killian was to meet him. He chuckled to himself at this week's choice, it was so stereotypical he almost couldn't believe it. _The Pegasus._ An English style pub smack dab in the middle of New York, looking horribly out of place along the street with its Tudor style beams and hanging sign, creaking as it swung in the breeze. He knew the moment he set foot in the place he would hear the familiar cadence of English accents, it was an English haunt after all, for all those homesick Brits, Irishmen and all the rest who hailed from the UK. But despite his mocking scorn, from the moment Killian walked in he was met with a fresh wave of nostalgia at the familiar interior. The typical scent of pub filled his senses, a mixtures of scents of beer, wood polish, alcohol and others that all reminded him of home, where he grew up. Pubs just like the one before him had been a favourite haunt of his back when he was a teenager, he would be lying if he said many of those occasions didn't end up badly. Sweeping his eyes over the room, his eyes finally settled on a familiar figure sitting at the end of the bar with his shoulder leaning against the wall. Killian walked over.

"Little brother!" the man shouted when his presence was noticed, leaping from the bar stool.

" _Younger_ brother, Liam" Killian reminded him begrudgingly but pulling him into a hug all the same, still with a smirk on his face that betrayed his tone of annoyance. Liam beamed at him.

"Aye, well, _younger_ then as you would have it. How have you been?" he asked, perching himself back on his stool, signalling the bartender to bring them another beer.

"Not all that bad" Killian replied, smiling at the bartender appreciatively as a drink was set before him, muttering a thank you.

"That's not what I've heard, Killian" Liam tried to catch Killian's eye, which he avoided.

"And what would that be?"

"I ran into Will, just the other day" he began.

"Aye, and?" Killian prompted, a little annoyed and exasperated at his brother's tendency to over exaggerate and dramatise.

"He told me that you've been, well, not yourself of late. Spacing out at work, forgetting things"

"And who is the infamous Will Scarlett to talk about job performance? The man's practically a-"

Liam held up a hand to silence him. Killian silently hated himself for that his brother still had so much power of him to quiet him with only a gesture.

"Will Scarlett is not the point, Killian. You were lucky to get that job in the first place, it would be bad form to grow lax now. What's going on? The truth, Killian"

He should've known his brother would find out. Killian was of a mind to wallop that Will Scarlett the next time he saw him to teach him not to be such a bloody gossip. But now there was no avoiding it.

"It's _her_ "

"Her?" Liam repeated unintelligently.

Killian flashed him a look of annoyance.

"Oh Killian" Liam sighed in a tone of pity and remorse, "It's been years now. Milah would've wanted-"

"This isn't about Milah" Killian interjected.

Liam blinked.

"... If this isn't about Milah then who-"

"Her. The only her there's been for years" Killian struggled to keep his voice down. He shouldn't take his anger out on his brother, he knew that. But Liam _knew_ what the mention of Milah did to him, he _knew_ it would bring up past hurts and forgotten emotions in him so dammit, it wasn't his fault. "I've found her"

"Her..." Liam's voice trailed off as he tried to remember who Killian was talking about. Killian waiting not impatiently but not without annoyance either as his brother took his time to recall. "Oh! The swan lass!"

" _Yes_ " Killian groaned, rolling his eyes just a bit, " _her_ "

"You- you _found_ her?"

"Would you like me to spell this out for you?" Killian bit back with sarcasm but a look from Liam quelled his stormy emotions and he settled. "Yes. I found her" he repeated, tone laced with dejection.

"But isn't that a good thing?"

"Yes. No. Maybe. I don't know. It's complicated, I haven't even actually spoken to her yet"

"Well why not?"

"Because it's complicated. You don't know her like I do. I can't just go running up there without some plan or an explanation"

"How long has this been going on Killian?"

"Weeks. Almost a month" he grumbled.

"You have to talk to her Killy"

"But-"

"No buts. You have to"

Silence reigned for a minute as the two men nursed their beers, then Killian spoke softly-

"I know"

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _so tell me about yourself_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _you first_

 _thejollyrodger said:_

 _ah i show you mine so you show me yours swan?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _just get on with it pirate_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _well i'm from the uk_

 _runawayswan said:  
nope that doesn't count. I already knew that_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _perceptive lass. How?_

 _runawayswan said:  
it was obvious. You spell favorite weird._

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _I think you'll find that is actually the proper spelling swan._

 _runawayswan said:_

 _matter of opinion_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _not quite_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _so what about you?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _well i'm american_

 _thejollyrodger said:_

 _do u really think u can get away with just that_

 _runawayswan said:  
worth a shot_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _who are you really swan_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _well I grew up in the foster system. Never really had a family to speak of but I made it out alright._

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _sorry for that lass_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _what about you?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _my father abandoned when I was just six and my mother died soon after_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _what took her_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _cancer_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _thats... awful. I'm so sorry jodger_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _what was she like?_

 _thejollyrodger said:_

 _she was beautiful, kind, with these shining green eyes and great mop of curly brown hair that my brother has now_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _you have a brother?_

 _thejollyrodger said:_

 _yeah, after dad left he took care of me and mum, he was 15 when it happened so he kind of took over as provider when mum was sick. We moved out here because there was a specialist here who could help mum. He got a job to pay for the food and made my lunches all while doing his exams and everything. I was 10 when mum died, liam was 19 and just finished school. He got a full time and practically raised me until I got into uni._

 _runawayswan said:_

 _where did he go then_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _he joined the navy, he'd always wanted to. I felt bad for holding him back all those years but eventually he was listed for departure, the same week I left for uni._

 _runawayswan said:_

 _did u miss him?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _terribly_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _how did u do it?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _I found rum... and other distractions_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _distractions?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _another time swan_

" _No._ No. No. Absolutely _not_. Not a chance" Emma shook her head so hard her hair flew out in golden strands over her forehead and made her dizzy, "No"

"Come on, Emma. You have to! Elsa's sick!" Ruby begged.

It had started off as just another night at the bar, nothing different, just the usual. Right in Emma's comfort zone. She happily flitted from table to table trying to ignore the annoying clip-clop of the stupidly high heels (which she wouldn't wear, if they didn't quadruple her tips) enjoying the music -which was actually half decent tonight- and the general nightlife. She didn't always hate her job. No, she even loved it sometimes. It got her out of the apartment at least and there were some great bands and singer that came to play live who gave her inspiration -or in other terms, a kick up the behind- for her own already failing music career. So, yes, tonight she was enjoying herself quite well. There were no annoying children, raucous drunks or randy sleezeballs crawling the bars, no her customers were pleasant enough tonight, well for New York that is, the bar itself wasn't packed, Mary Margaret even promised to come in tonight, with her new fiancé, David. And, to top it all off, one of her favourite local musicians was set to play tonight. Elsa Aradelle, whose beautiful, haunting voice never failed to give Emma chills. Emma was looking forward to it immensely, Elsa wasn't only fantastically talented and loved by the crowd, she was a friend. You can't help but get to know a regular colleague, especially one who was so similar to yourself. And once the two finally got talking, it didn't take long at all for them to become great friends. So, yes, Emma's eyes kept flitting to the doorway out the back each time she passed it on her way to collect drinks, hoping to see her friend and maybe get a chance to catch up before Elsa had to go on. But then the call came in. A cold. Elsa, of all people, had a cold. Elsa 'the cold's never bothered me' Aradelle. And now Ruby got it into her head that Emma _had_ to go on in her place.

"No. Not happening" she continued to protest vehemently, though Ruby didn't seem to be listening at all.

"Emma. As your boss and your friend I'm telling you, you have to"

"Don't play that card Ruby, you know I don't like to perform"

"What would your professor say?" Ruby cocked her head at her in, Emma thought, a rather patronising manner, clearly not backing down.

"Erm..." her voice trailed off. She _knew_ what her professor would say. She _knew_ what he/she had said in the past, already, to her. On past assignments and projects and what-not. That to compse music, she needed to perform music. That she needed to see what it looked like on the other side of the spotlights. Remind her that her course _was_ , in fact, Music composition _and_ performance. So, of course she had to perform. And she did. She managed. Because it wasn't in front of a massive crowd. A small one at most, without full stage lighting. But a crowd like tonight? She'd never performed in front of a crowd like this. And Ruby, also her boss and owner of the bar Crimson Wolf, wasn't backing down.

Emma flicked her eyes anxiously back to Ruby's expectant gaze. Not a trace of acquiescence. Emma sighed.

"Fine. Fine. Okay" she began, immediately feeling the regret, "I'll do it"

Ruby about squealed. Emma winced.

"Great! I'm so excited, I've never heard you sing. I'll tell the team. I take it you'll be playing?"

 _The piano._

" _Yes._ Yes" Emma thanked the stars the bar had a piano of it's own, it meant she could focus on the keys, not the crowd. And at least the playing would calm her.

"Perfect. Then you can just play what you feel most comfortable with"

Emma nodded, feeling that, in that moment, there was nothing she felt most comfortable with. She didn't feel comfortable at all. But she had her piano, at least there was that.

Mary Margaret weaved her way through the small circular tables towards an empty table a little to the back of the tables that occupied the space before the small stage, just before the booths that ran the length of the back wall. Once she reached it, one hand attached to a tall, grinning man being led along by Mary Margaret, she seemed to re-evaluate and instead choose a booth, out of the dim bar lights, parallel to the table, along the wall. With a smile to the man playfully rolling his eyes behind her, she pulled him towards the scarlet leather of the booth and sat down, gazing lovingly into the face of the man, illuminated by the flickering light of the small oil candle which sat between them in the centre of the booth table.

"Emma should be around" Mary Margaret tore her eyes from that of her fiancé's to scan the room, searching for a familiar long sweep of golden curls.

"So I'll finally get to meet the famous Emma Swan, should I be worried that it took my fiancée a year before she introduced the man she was going to marry to her best friend? " the man teased with an easy grin.

"David" Mary Margaret took his hand in her own across the smooth wooden surface of the table, "you know it's not like that. It's just been... difficult to find the time. Emma's a busy woman and-"

"I know, I know, dear, I'm just teasing. I'm excited to finally meet her" David squeezed Mary Margaret's hand with a smile, meeting her softening gaze.

"You're going to love her. I can just see it now"

"I know I will. How could I possibly hate anyone who you describe as 'like a daughter' to you?"

"Don't let her hear you say that. Emma hates to admit that she needs anyone, though she does. You can't help but want to protect her, as you'll no doubt find out. Especially with her upbringing and all"

"Well from what you've told me, she's a force to be reckoned with"

Mary Margaret's eyes widened as she nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes. Oh God, yes. You don't want to get on her bad side. You should have seen her when I told her what my last boyfriend did, you know the story, she went practically dark and livid. Ready to murder, I had to hold her back from rampaging over there that moment.

"I love her already" David chuckled.

"I'm serious. She could practically be Dark Swan masquerading as Odette"

David continued to laugh.

"Sounds like a character, at least"

"But, joking aside, she's an amazing person. She may be... prickly, guarded" she corrected herself, "when you first meet her but beneath that she's fiercely loyal, to a fault, kind and even sweet sometimes, and seriously talented. Seriously. Her piano, violin, lord knows what else and her singing voice" her voice trailed off.

"Woah, what's she doing working here?"

"Well it's a tough career, music, and she's still finishing up University. And then there's that she doubts herself so much. She has so much talent if she'd just... let go and show it"

"Yeah, I don't doubt it. You got her a violin for her last birthday, right?"

"Yes. Beautiful thing it was, Marco carved it for me, special order. I wanted the best, the very best. Something that no one could take away from her, after what happened with that-" Mary Margaret bit her lip, seeming to hold herself back from a string of profanity, "what happened with Neal. So I had her named carved along the side, weaved with vines. I think it's one of Marco's best creations to date, he really rose to the challenge. I wasn't going to settle for second best. She was so happy when I gave it to her. I've never seen her smile so widely. I just want to see her like that all the time. She really deserves more. _So much_ more than she's settled for, than she thinks she deserves herself. And I'll do what I can to give her that"

David's eyes twinkled in the flickering amber glow of the candlelight, filled with love and admiration for the woman sat in front of him. So loving, so kind. He knew that he would end up loving Emma just in the way Mary Margaret did. If Emma had won the unwavering kindness, warmth and love of his love, then he was sure that she deserved it more than she knew, and was happy to become a friend to her.

"I love you" he murmured.

Mary Margaret drew out of her trance and met his gaze with a tender smile.

"I love you too"

The two lovebirds could have gone on gazing lovingly into eachother's eyes uninterrupted for hours, but, as it were, they were interrupted. By the tapping of a microphone. Mary Margaret's eyes snapped back from the enchanting gaze of her fiancé and in the direction of the stage. David's gaze followed.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Oh, they must be announcing the live music tonight. Elsa. You'll like her, her voice is-" her eyes widened as a sudden wave of shock swept through her body, stealing her voice, "oh my god" she exclaimed in surprise. Ruby's voice spun out of her focus into background noise as a bright spotlight illuminated a large, ruby red grand piano, shining in the light. And behind it, none other than Emma Swan, looking ever so slighting green and definitely uncomfortable under the harsh beam of light "I can't believe it. Impossible"

"What? What is it?" David's eyes flitted over the stage, searching for the object of his fiancée's shock.

"That-" Mary Margaret's voice still stammered with disbelief, "that's not Elsa"

"Oh?" his brow furrowed in confusion, "then who is it?"

"It's... Emma"

And then she began to play.

She relaxed visibly the moment her fingers touched the keys and began to play, melting into the soft notes of the music. Singing came easily next, a soft, lilting voice echoing beautifully through the bar. She didn't know it, but the whole room fell silent as she sang through her set list, enchanting the entire room. Emma forgot that there were others in the room completely, sinking into a whole entirely of her own. A world where the bright spotlights of the stage couldn't reach, where reality couldn't touch, where there was only herself and the music that had first captured her heart. She was onto her last song before she knew it, she couldn't remember whether she had introduced her swan song or whether she had just ran on into it as soon she was deep into the flowing notes and harmonies. She fell into the music. Not usually a song she would choose. No, she usually steered well clear of overplayed pop songs but this one... Well this one it- it spoke to her. She connected with it. It told her a story that she knew well, that she instantly recognised the moment she heard it.

 _I thought heaven can't help me now_

 _Nothing lasts forever_

 _But this is gonna take me down_

Her voice rose and fell swelled with pure feeling, raw emotion that only gave it depth, reality, a rawness that captured and held the room like pure magic.

 _Some day when you leave me_

 _I bet these memories follow you around_

Her voice became enchanting, enthralling, pure and true and beautiful. Casting a spell of awe, a portal to another realm of pure enchantment and music, over the room with her voice along. That none could compare to. And Emma lost herself in memories as the song ran through to the end of bridge.

 _Say you'll remember me_

 _Standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe_

 _Red lips and rosy cheeks_

 _Say you'll see me again even if it's just pretend_

Her voice rang through the room, echoing with love lost, pain and regret laid bare by the soft music. Her memories flicked behind her eyes like a story book and when the song finally came to its close, she felt cool tears running down her cheeks which she lifted a hand to, drawing it back to see the water glimmering in the spotlight that seemed, somehow, less harsh now. The room was silent, stunned, watching Emma in awe as, after the calm and peace of the music left her, a moment of panic spiked her chest. And then the room erupted with cheers and applause. Emma hadn't thought they'd had many people in today, certainly not enough to make this kind of noise. She almost laughed, letting out a startled smile, now stunned herself. She hadn't expected this, not at all. She bowed her head to the audience and then cast her gaze over the room, finally landing on Mary Margaret, sitting in a booth at the back, visible only for the dim illuminance of the candlelight and sitting opposite who had to be David, her fiancé., still held by the spell of Emma's voice. At that point, a gushing Ruby, with tears in her own eyes, retook the stage. Emma didn't know what she said. She smiled according and fled the stage, still somewhat stunned by the effect of the music and the audience's reaction. The night was over. But, it seemed, something else had only just begun.

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _just answer the question swan, how was your day?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _well... strange_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _strange how?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _the woman who was meant to be performing tonight called in sick_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _and?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _I performed in her place_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _bloody hell swan that's amazing! how'd it go?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _well it took some convincing and I was hella nervous but once I started playing I just- well I sank into the music it was like nothing else existed anymore. Just me and the music, I played well I think. When I finished the room was stunned... is that a good thing?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _of course it is! They loved you, it's obvious!_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _and how would u know? You weren't even there and I could be awful for all u know_

 _thejollyrodger said:_

 _I just know it_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _u just know it how_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _magic_

 _Chapter 5_

Another time. Another place.

He was in a reminiscent, melancholy mood, scrolling through their past online conversations. So many things that he hadn't told her yet. He wanted to. Desperately. It was as if, if he told her, suddenly the weight that the memories carried on his heart would evaporate, and he wouldn't hurt any more. And he hadn't told her of the things that hurt him the most. That Summer at sea. Watching his mother die. Milah.

 _Milah..._

He shouldn't blame his brother for immediately jumping to the conclusion that she was the _her_ Killian was referring to the other day. But it still hurt none the less, the memory of it. So many emotions captured in one short Summer.

He had just finished his first year of university. Summers were long there, lasted months. So when Liam proposed that Killian join him for a term in the Navy, naturally he said yes. A whole Summer with his brother. Nothing sounded more perfect.

Until Liam was injured, fatally.

When Killian returned to university, he was in a bad place. So much worse than the first year when he drowned the pain of missing Liam with rum. Because last time was different. Last time, Liam couldn't die at any day.

When Killian returned to university, Liam was still unresponsive, in a coma, with no signs of his waking up. _He could die..._

That was all Killian could thing about. Morning, noon, night. He barely slept, lying awake through the night, tossing and turning and wondering about his brother, worrying about his brother, imagining what would happen if he died. It was like he was just waiting for the call from the hospital. Killian had no hope at all. His grades dropped massively, he was almost put on probation. He drank until he couldn't feel any more, until there was nothing left of him because he couldn't deal with the fear, the grief, the loss that he felt at every hour of the day. Without Liam around Killian fell into dissipation. And that was when he met her.

Her name was Milah, and she was married.

Without Liam acting as his conscious, he fell in deep, head over heels in love with her, ready to drop everything and run away in love with her. It didn't mattered to him that she was married, all he cares about was her. _Her_ happiness, her _love_ , _her._

They talked about their future. A future together. She would leave her husband for him, they would move away, far away, maybe even back to the UK, where nothing could reach them. It was like someone had reached out and pulled him back from the black abyss of darkness and gave him a reason to live again. He pulled himself back for her. Pulled back his grades for her. Wrote for her. _Lived_ for her. Without her, Killian didn't know what would have happened to him. He never would have made it through that second year of university without her.

They were _happy_ together. He moved out of the dorms and into a small flat in the city, by the hospital so that he was closer to his brother and she could come over more often, they built a life in that tiny space together. And it was enough for him.

Until it wasn't enough for her.

She didn't want to sneak around anymore. She wanted to leave her husband, _now._

And as much as Killian wanted that, he couldn't leave New York. His brother was there. His university was there. His life was there.

And she was screaming at him. It was 3 AM and she was shouting, he was crying. It was their worst fight yet and he didn't see an end to it. _But she should be his life. She should be enough for him. Only her,_ she shouted at him. She left.

That was the last thing she said to him.

When Killian got the call, that was all that he could think about.

That she had left thinking that she wasn't enough for him.

 _Car crash... jackknifed... blood loss... injury to the head... fatal..._

The words in his ears all passed through as if he was hearing them underwater. The phone fell from his ear, dropping to the floor with a clatter that didn't reach him.

Because she was gone.

And he was alone.

A couple months later, he found _her_. The memories of that time still hurt sorely each time they arose, had him reaching for a bottle of rum, but that they lead him to _her_ made it better. Because the memory of finding her was mixed in with those dark, painful memories, they didn't hurt so much each time they arose. Because they also brought thoughts of her, memories of her. It was her messages he clung onto in the dark, loneliness of the night. It was just enough to keep him going, hearing how she had come through all that she had, and alone made him realise that he could too. Though his grades dropped again, he didn't spiral. That was when he found writing. And that made all the difference. It opened a dam inside of him. Gave him an outlet for the torrent of emotions tearing him to shreds inside. He poured hours and hours into his stories, his heart and soul laid bare on the paper. That's when he first wrote _At Sea._ Most of it written at Liam's bedside. Through the night only the frantic scrawl of his pen upon paper could be heard echoing through the hospital room where Liam laid unmoving, pen harmonising with the steady rhythm of the heart monitor.

He woke up in time to see his little brother graduate with a first honours degree.

In time to see his little brother win the undergraduate prize for writing.

And, after everything, Liam couldn't have been more proud of him.

 _runawayswan said:_

 _you posted one!_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _one of what love_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _dont be coy you know what! Your story! You posted one_

 _throllyjodger said:_

 _oh that old thing?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _jodger._

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _you liked it then swan?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _liked it? Jodger, I LOVED it._

 _thejollyrodger said:_

 _thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _was it about him? Your brother?_

 _Thejollyrodger said:_

 _aye it was_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _jodger... Your writing is beautiful. I felt everything in the words you wrote it came to life behind the screen,_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _really? You truly think so?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _I do. it was like it was so much more than just words, like I could see you there, between the words. Like you breathed the world into reality, you were there in them. I could feel you between them. Every heartbeat, every breath, every emotion you felt was there. It was phenomenal, moving, beautiful It- you brought that to life jodger_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _swan thats- I don't know what to say_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _you dont have to say anything. But you do have to do something_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _and whats that_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _enter it for that creative writing award_

 _thejollyrodger said:_

 _no no no swan its not good enough for that_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _it is_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _no it cant be_

 _runawayswan said:  
well it is. I know it. You have to jodger_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _you honestly think so_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _I do._

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _then I will. For you_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _good_

 _Chapter 6_

All she knew when she woke up was that it the glaring red light that glowed from the alarm clock beside her bed told her it was not quite morning. The sheets were in a tangle between her legs and she fought to disengage from their tight embrace as she tried to work out was had awoken her. The last thing she knew before she awoke was a terrible wailing of a violin whose strings were being painfully wrenched by a sharp bow and a sharp, cold knife pressed against her throat. With each terrible screech of the bow across string, pain ripped though her chest so sharp, so harsh that she could barely breathe, barely see. Her heart beat angrily against her ribcage, reminding her that she was alive, but all she knew beside the pain was the haunting, wailing scream of an abused violin. And then she felt a cool, trickle of liquid begin to streak from the tender flesh of her neck with each wailing shred of the sharp, silver bow. In horror did she look down to behold a stream of blood gushing from her neck across a hollow space where her lungs should have been. The blood ran along the taught strings of the violin but in vain did she search for the sound, for then the bow ran its sharp edge once more along the strings and she finally saw that there was no violin in sight. Running from her throat were the bloody strings of the instruments that she loved so and beneath them her heart, still beating frantically in her hollow chest. The pain was blinding as the glinting sheen cut across the strings again and again. With each pulse of her heart they wrenched the fraying strings, tearing from them a dreadful screech that spoke for the voice that had been stolen for her. She could not scream. She could not think. They was only the pain. And the dreadful, wailing hymn of the strings inside the hollow of her chest.

And then the bow took once more to its terrible torture and no more could her spent body take it.

The first string snapped.

Only pain. Only pain. There was nothing else. No violin. No sound.

The second string snapped.

The dreadful wail no longer matched the torture of her soul, nothing could compare. Only pain. Only curse. Only torture. Nothing left. No violin. No sound. No heartbeat.

The last string snapped.

No Emma. Only pain. No strings.

And then she screamed. And awoke.

Now, in the artificial light beaming from the alarm clock, Emma shuddered. She felt still the echoes of the pain that had ridden her nightmare and that there was no breath in her lungs. She felt suddenly so constricted, chains around her chest binding her lungs, stealing her breath. She needed to breath, she needed air. The walls suddenly felt as if they were closing in on her, locking her in, crushing, crushing her. She needed out, she needed air. No longer could she bare the four bare walls of her tiny bedroom that to her felt like the walls of a coffin, a great tomb that was drawing closer and closer to her huddled form curled in a tangle of sheets in the centre of her bed that took up almost the entire room. She scrambled from the bed, heart beating wildly in her chest, trying to break free from its boned cage. In a haze she stumbled clumsily out of her small, confining bedroom and to the window where rays of Moonlight beamed through the cool glass which she had found herself before, collapsed onto her arms on the windowsill, weakly pushing the open the window to let in the brisk night air. She gasped in shakily, feeling the fresh night air swell her lungs, goosebumps pricked the skin on her bare arms exposed to the cold breeze, still shuddering from the awful wake of the nightmare. She breathed in again, the cool night air and was slowly steadied. Her frantic heart began to slow to a normal pulse inside of her chest and when she breathed now, her body no longer trembled. But inside she was shaken, her soul still shook but was -at the same time- numb with pure shock. What could it mean? She asked herself, though she knew it would so no good to question the strange and shocking nightmare. She brought a hand to her chest, feeling solid bone beneath her cool, smooth skin where, in the nightmare, the strings been strung and finally snapped with a sharp infliction of unadulterated pain and the harsh snap of finality. Abused by her own instrument. Though the instrument... was her. Or perhaps not. Emma remembered, with a haunting vividness, the awful moment when she had looked down to see the bloody strings stretched across and empty ribcage that held a still beating, glowing heart. Was it herself, or instrument? It was as if she was both then, her body fused terribly to the instrument closest to her heart. Half human, half mechanism. Ripped to shreds by a bow that was half instrument, half weapon. One that cut her, shredded the soul of her contorted body to bloody bits until there was only the pain, the dreadful screeching wail of the abused instrument and then- nothing.

The breath she drew in was shaken.

It was cold. The icy breeze seeped through the window and over her skin, peppering it with goosebumps as it moved over and past her, further into the room, dusting everything with its chilled touch. And yet, Emma did not close the window. The glacial breeze was quite welcome. For with it brought the reminder of reality, that the hauntings of her nightmare remained wholly in their own realm of dreams, of hyper-reality and everything nonsensical and imagined. The touch of the bladed bow could not find her here, where the cool breath of coming Winter touched her skin in a welcome, fresh embrace that cooled her heightened senses, settled her fray nerves, calmed her frantic heart. She didn't see any other way of getting through this but to breath. The nightmare stayed with her, haunting her mind, echoing in the wake of her thoughts was the fear, the pain, the betrayal. She inhaled deeply again. Her violin. That's what she needed right now. To play. That's what would get her through this. Taking everything that haunted her dreams, that followed her thoughts and plagued her mind and force it from her, eradicate it from her mind and pushing it into her notes. Her music would purge her of the fear, the pain, the betrayal. Purge her of her nightmare. Without taking her eyes from the pale Moon suspended in the dark sky before her, she felt blindly for her violin where it sat beneath the window. Picked it up. And finally, she played. With every thought. Every fear. Every shiver. Every shaken breath. She played. And all of those thoughts, those feelings, those images that so haunted her flowed out beneath her fingertips into euphonious vibrations reverberating in the cold breeze that lingered through the room, resonating in a beautiful, ethereal night's lament.

 _Chapter 7_

Killian curled in on himself, shoulders hunched to battle against the biting cold of the morning, as he walked along the empty pavements of the slumbering streets of New York. It was still dark, but still you could already see an icy mist that clung to the climbing skylights, curling around the bends and corners down into the alleyways, crawling slowly onto the pavement to envelop your feet as you walk. In the flickering amber glow of a streetlight, the mist visibly floated like the breath that expelled from Killian as he nuzzled his nose into his scarf. With a shiver, he grumbled to himself. What the bloody hell did work want with him this early in the morning? Ever in the most pleasant of moods. He was a morning person, generally, enjoying the crisp air, the quiet of the streets, the unbroken peace of morning, but this did not extend to waking up, at an insane hour, to the shrill beeping of his mobile, raising the blinding light of his screen to his squinting eyes to read that work wanted him in. Now. It's not that he didn't like his job. He did, most of the time. Working in publishing could be a pretty hit and miss job sometimes. And he hadn't _exactly_ chosen the job on a whim. He just hadn't given it as much thought as he probably should have. But it was well paid, close enough by to walk to, and he did enjoy it most of the time, despite his grumblings. And, what had ran through his mind when the job was offered to him, if he couldn't get his own book published. At least he could help others in reaching their dreams of publication. He could do that much. And he was good at his job. So, why they wanted him in this early was beyond him. All he knew was that it required a horrifically early morning. All he knew was the steadily glowing Moon, hung low through the thick fog, shining over a familiar, dimly lit street. All he knew was the harsh cold, seeping through his cold and into his veins, running through his body and the white clouds of breath that expelled into the dark night and evaporated like dust into the thin air. And then suddenly, noise, breaking through the silent night. A beautiful night's lament streaming through the air with an echoing rush of feeling. Suddenly, Killian was flooded. Images strung behind each wailing note filled his vision and Killian was taken away. Someplace else. Someplace other. He saw treetops, empty swings groaning in an unseen wind. Bare rooms void of personality flashed behind his eyes, empty rooms, empty lives and empty hearts and Killian felt the pain of abandonment, the familiar sting of loneliness. And then, music, dancers, life. A swan song. A young girl's eyes filled suddenly with light , life, vitality and... hope. She was there, tentatively running her hands along a piano, gently touching the strings of her first violin and he was there. Watching as tentative touched turned into a melody, harmonies practised only by heaven's choir. The song climbed higher and higher and then sunk lower and lower. Calling of heartbreak, of pain and betrayal and lost hope. And then friendship. Love and hope found in the midst of pain. Light in the edges of darkness and darkness in the edges of light. Both. Both there, both present always and a spirit bred of light, and good and how dark times and dark days and dark people crushed the soul inside until she was hidden. Kindness, sweetness, innocence beaten down and buried beneath walls and walls of barriers and barriers that fell, and toppled and crumbled as the melody rose and he was there. He saw it all. He felt all. All of her pain. All of her heartbreak. And then all of her goodness. All of her talent and promise and light and hope. He knew it was there. All that was hidden inside of her. And then finally a dreamcatcher, held in shaking hands that strung the thread round and round, lacing over and under and through until a beautiful, simple pattern strung inside a simple rung hung before the shining light of a window, with a single feather floating with the ethereal grace of a ballet dancer in an unseen breeze.

He saw it all. And felt the physical cold of the tears that now ran from his eyes and down his cheeks which slowly drew him back from the grasp of the surreal and the magical, into reality once more. To see that, through his tears, he was gazing clearly into the face of a familiar window. And this time, he did not hesitate. This time, there was no way of holding himself back.

He made his way blindly through the stairways and corridors, he couldn't remember who buzzed him in. He was frantic, held by a spell that transfixed him, blinded him, pulled him forwards through the streets and the corridors and the stairways and past the doors and windows and signs and doormats that meant nothing to him until he was there. Standing, panting, before her door. And then reality struck with the punch of a pounding heartbeat into his gut. _He was there._ She was behind that door. She was here. Right now. And all it took to close the distance was a simple knock, He raised his hand and raised his hand and still his shook, trembling before the door. So close to knocking, the breaking the silence of the trepidation that consumed his body. He was so close, so close. Closer than he's ever been and still he could not knock. Weeks and months and years of waiting, waiting and wanting, of missing her and needing her, built up inside of him, pulsating and breathing like a living beast inside of his chest and all he needed to do was defeat it and _knock on the door._ And still he could not move. Anxities and fears swarmed him, hitting him suddenly and he was a deer caught in the blinding headlights of a truck. What if he rejects her? What if she hates him, doesn't want anything to do with him? What if it wasn't even her? What if he's just at some random stranger's door?

 _No._

He could do this. He had to do this. He would face it all, face his fears, his anxieties, his demons, his darkness. Anything, everything. For her. He would never stop fighting for them.

 _A man who doesn't fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets._

He inhaled, exhaled-

and knocked.

When her hand had finally ceased to move along the smooth wooden spine of the violin, Emma was still in the grasps of the music, held in the grasp of astonishment and awe. Her hand still was raised in a sweeping motion, hovering above the violin. She barely blinked, frozen by her own music, held captive by the melodies that entranced her. She felt almost nothing, and yet she felt almost everything. Her mind was in a fog, trying to process the time that had passed since she had taken up the bow, sparing a brief moment to grasp for her iPod from where sat on the window sill to hit record (a habit she had learnt from uni, a useful one too, she no longer had to go through the pains of trying desperately to recreate a melody that she had made on a whim, randomly) she tried to process what had just happened. Had that- was that really her? Did she really do that? Make that? It was impossible, wasn't it? She never imagined that she could put so much emotion, so much feeling in her music. She never thought she had it in her. She never thought those memories, the feelings they contained, would ever escape from her mind. And now they were. And suddenly she felt... free. Unconstrained, no longer trapped by the memories and hauntings of the past. Weightless. Unreal. Something other than herself.

Emma didn't know what to think.

And then she didn't have to. Because just then sounded the unmistakable note of a knock, ringing through the heavy silence of room.

He knocked.

He did it. _Bloody hell,_ he did it. It was done. He swear he could hear his heart pounding angrily against his chest in the minutes of silent trepidation that followed at he waited. Maybe she had gone to bed. Maybe she didn't hear him. Should he knock again? No. That would be rude. And unnecessary. And if she was sleeping, he didn't want to wake her up. He knew her sleep schedule was iffy at best. So he waited, rocking on his heels awkwardly, trying to distract himself from his swelling anxiety. Maybe he should go. She probably didn't hear him. She's probably asleep. It's probably for the best. Disappointment began to settle in his chest like the grey ashes falling after a fire. He began to turn away.

And then the door opened.

 _Chapter 8_

There was a man at her door.

And a handsome man at that. Emma wasn't even sure handsome was good enough to describe the way this man looked. Dishevelled ebony hair that had strung through continuously by a distracted hand, rough stubble etching the lines of a chiselled jawline clenching and unclenching again as if with speechlessness or nerves. And then Emma slowly raised her eyes.

Blue.

A beautiful, fathomless clear blue like the deep hue of the sea reflected in a bright morning sky. He met her eyes. He visibly softened, an inner damn breaking inside of him mirrored in the windows of his eyes which glittered brightly like the Moon upon the sea at night.

"Swan" he murmured. And his accent, British. Familiar. Like she knew it, had heard it before but at the same time she hadn't. But how was that possible?

The door swung open.

All he saw was a sweep of golden blonde locks shining in the dim light like the Sun in the darkness, mussed slightly by sleep but, at the same time, perfect and he couldn't help but wonder if she looked as stunning after other activities. And she was beautiful, she was stunning. A creature so much more than his imagination could ever muster up. And it was her. She was there. Any shadow of a doubt evaporated as his eyes swept over her pyjama clad figure, settling on the familiar vision of the pendant of a swan settled neatly on the hollow of her neck. And, suddenly, this was real. All very suddenly, all very real. Up until this point, she had still been something of a figure of fantasy, of hope in a dreamcatcher hanging on a window. And, now, here she was, real, tangible, physical and the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld. He looked up. And her eyes. Her eyes, held in an endearing inquisitive gaze with her head cocked slightly to the side. A glimmering, glorious green. Green as agate, shining exquisitely in the light, capturing his instantly in a gaze that he felt with every fibre of his being, down to his very soul and he saw that, in those agate eyes, she felt something, saw something there too. Through the layers and layers of green, a flicker of something. And every tense nerve in his body melted.

"Swan" he murmured, almost afraid to utter the words too loudly, as if they were sacred and the spell would break like paper thin ice if shattered when the word was given reality. And there it was again, a flicker in her eyes. He saw it, he felt it, he knew it was there. And, suddenly, all the practiced meeting, rehearsed words and memorised lines, flooded instantly from his mind and he was laid bare in front of her. Bare and vulnerable to all of the feelings that surged inside of him, breaking through his ice thin constraints, feelings built from years of wanting, of needing, waiting, of desire and hidden love rising inside of him and he moved almost against his will, his legs moving forward of their own accord, he closes the distance between them and he's kissing her.

 _Kissing her._

And it's magic. More than the fireworks of clichés, more than the fires of romance, more than words could allow. Pure magic. And she receives him, her soft lips yielding to his, melting into the kiss and returning it with equal fervour. And flames erupted between them, electric fire instantly igniting. Electric flames of pure blue-silver light spark from their lips as green and blue auras flashed behind his eyes. Nothing could have prepared him for this. Nothing. Not even his all-too-active imagination could ever have mustered up anything that compared to this because she is here and she is real and she is kissing him. Kissing him. And it's pure magic. He swears he could kiss her forever, hours and hours, days upon days, never boring of the sensation of her lips against his. But then she seems to abruptly recollect herself and she stiffens, pushing back against his chest with shaking hands, whispering in a husky but quaking voice-

"Do I know you?"

 _Do I know you._

More than you could ever imagine.

What is she thinking? What is she doing?

Here is a complete stranger, at her door at an insane hour of the morning, who could be here to murder her or rob her or something worse, and -albeit extremely, almost cruelly, handsome- she is kissing him. Kissing him. Like she's never kissed anybody before. Never in her life has she kissed a man like this. Never before in her life has she felt something like this because she swears she can feel magic, pure light and shining blue and green auras dissolving into fireworks behind her eyes. Never even in her music has she felt something quite like this. It's more than music can express. Because this- this was pure sensation, pure feeling, pure magic. Something belonging to another world that didn't belong to humankind. Something too pure, too innocent, too perfect to exist in reality. Because in reality, you don't kiss strangers and feel- feel- whatever this was. And reality did return and Emma reclaimed herself. Remembering to be cautious. Remembering reality and all that it brought with it. Remembering her defences. Searching for the walls which have protected her for so long but they're gone, they're no where in sight. Emma stiffens, pushing back against the man's chest with quivering hands, she whispers in small voice the only words still floating in her mind-

"Do I know you?"

She's so close it hurts, it aches. She's looking up at him and her green eyes are full of distress and worry and vulnerability. She kissed him, her lips met his, accepted his and it was more than he could ever imagine, it was magic. But, now he has to explain and, please God, let her understand. She ahas to understand, she has to see, she has to at least give him a chance to explain before the door is forever slammed in his face. He replies almost desperately-

"I know you better than you know yourself, Love"

Again her eyes flicker, alight with recognition.

Slowly, it dawns on her. Like the rising Sun of a dark December morning, impossibility that it was. But, who else called her Swan? Who else did she know had a British accent? Who else called her love and what other man did she know but had never seen before, so wouldn't recognise? Who else knew her better than she knew herself?

" _Jodger_ " she breathes.

The seconds between feel eternal, torture.

"Aye" he finally nods. His expression is almost too much alone for Emma to deal with. The joy and relief in his boyish smirk. The unwavering love in his fathomless eyes. All energy floods her, a result of a near sleepless night and continual shock, and she sinks into him, burying her face into his neck, pushing her arms to loop around until she can feel the soft fluff of the hair at the top his neck beneath her fingertips. She's clinging to him like a lifeline, like the only light left in the world, like he's all that's left and she'll never, ever let go again.

She falls into his arms and he catches her readily, like it's what he's been waiting for his entire life, like it's what he's meant to do.

"You found me" she whispers in a small, soft voice into his neck. He hears her, despite her voice being muffled from her face nuzzled into his neck. He drops his head to rest on top of hers, pressing a kiss against her golden waves and whispering in return-

"Always"

Emma's body shivers against him.

She isn't ready for this. She shouldn't be ready for this. His words, his voice, his eyes are all too much for her to cope with all at once. But, here he is, loving her, embracing her, looking at her like she's the only light left in the world and, suddenly, he's real. He's physical, he's tangible, he exists, he's no longer only a username on a computer screen.

He's here, and he's loving her, kissing her, accepting her, treating her so preciously, so tenderly, in a way that she never thought she would have, she never thought she deserved.

He tightens his embrace as she shakes. He knows she's close to tears and it's breaking his heart. He wants to murder whoever made her like this, forced her to hide and hide and hide away behind layers of walls, made her question and doubt everything pure and good and push away everything that she deserves. He wants to murder whoever made her think she didn't deserve so much more than she ever granted herself. He knows they're out there somewhere, living and breathing and downright defiling the Earth with their every presence, the someone who killed her belief in love, in hope. But here she is and she's real, physical, she exists and somehow something has changed within her because she's not running, he walls are almost all the way down and she's letting him embrace her, treat her the ways she deserves to be treated. With care, with love and respect. But still he could feel the questioning and vulnerability, the fear and trepidation in her body. And his heart can't quite take, quite process all of the emotions that are rushing through him. He hopes she can't hear his heart crashing against his ribcage from where her head is buried. His arms tighten around her as he presses his lowers his face to press into her neck, his body curling around hers. He's surprised to feel tears fill his own eyes for the second time that morning.

She feels him press him face against her bare neck, and then suddenly a coldness like- water? She lifts her head to look at him, finally seeing him clearly through her tears. He lifts his head, meeting her curious agate gaze. He's crying, and she can't believe it. He's crying. She's never seen a man cry before. It looks so real, so raw, and he looks so... desperate, overwhelmed, loving.

"Now, Love, can I come in?" he asks, his own voice shaking now.

It's strange to see a man cry, stranger see him cry, thejollyrodger himself. The tears only made his eyes resemble so much more the sea, the bright blue sky against the deep, fathomless waves. She feels almost as if the sea was springing to life from behind his eyes and soon they would be flooded, enveloped into the deep, deep blue.

She nods silently, moving to lead him into her home. She's halfway through the doorway when she stops, remembering something, she speaks still in a soft, quiet voice-

"I'm Emma. Emma Swan"

He doesn't think that there was ever a more beautiful name. Emma. It's like he's been waiting his entire life for her name to touch his lips.

"Killian Jones" he replies.

Such a strange name, she doesn't think she's ever heard it before. But, she smiles, it suits him to a tee. Unusual, strange almost, rare. So rare. She doesn't think there could be any other like him in the world. She didn't think she would ever find him. But, in the end, he found her.

She nods again, finally smiling. Her smile is beautiful, exquisite, stunning. He finds a wide smile dawning on his face as she leads him into her apartment. But, she's leading him into more than that. Finally, finally home.

She knows now that she's been lying to herself this entire time, from the very beginning, he was more than just a mutual, more than just a friend, more than even a crush.

 _Chapter 9_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _emma_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _yeah_

 _therollyjoger said:_

 _nothing it's just... weird to say_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _i know what you mean. I never thought i'd know your real name_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _you didn't?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _you did?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _Well not exactly, i never needed to know your name on some level. because what we've always had went beyond names, something beautiful and real despite it being online. Because we didn't know eachothers names, it was like our whole relationship was untouchable by reality, that it existed on a realm above us, transcending us, don't you think?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _yeah, i do, though i'm no writer so i wouldn't put it quite like that_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _and how would you put it miss musician?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _in music obviously, probably violin_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _i must hear this sometime swan... emma_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _maybe you will_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _it's a date_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _a... date?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _aye_

 _do i win this one?_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _maybe_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _it still seems kind of unreal, knowing you_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _you always knew me_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _aye, that i did. but actually meeting you was something that only existed in my dreams_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _i guess i never thought we'd actually meet_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _i did_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _you did?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _yes_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _how?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _maybe i didn't know for certain, maybe it was just hope. But something inside of me always knew i would find you, that i would always find you no matter where we were. That in every life, on every realm, in any time i would find you and you would find me and we would be together somehow_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _and now that you found me?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _and you found me_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _what now?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _we stay how we always have been_

 _runawayswan said:_

 _which is what?_

 _therollyjodger said:_

 _together_

 _EPILOGUE_

Mary Margaret weaved her way through the crowds of proud parents and siblings, making her way to a seat at the front of the large auditorium, pulling David by the hand behind her. At last they sat, settled their belongings around their seats, and waited. David leant over and fumbled in his bag for his video camera, not wanting to miss even a second of these moments. He messed with the controls for a moment, checking the battery and memory card, checking the focus, twice over, before he finally set it in his lap. Ceasing his fidgeting, his hands lay now limp in lap which Mary Margaret impulsively reached over and covered with her own, turning to him saying-

"Can you believe how far they've come?"

Her eyes flitting to the corner of the wide room, resting on the image of a young woman with long golden curls pulled back in a high ponytail, looking up nervously at the tall, dark haired man before her whose hands she held in front of her, fingers laced with his, you could just make out the slight, soft movement of his thumb brushing across her hands in a comforting gesture as he gazed down at her with a gentle smile. You could see his lips moving, though from so far across the room filled with chattering parents, families, students and professors, there was no chance of catching his words. The woman seemed to shine in the large crowds of people, her royal blue graduation robes vivid against the dark casual attire of the man before her, the shining golden band of the class valedictorian fabric draping around her small shoulder gleaming in the stage lights. Following her gaze, David smirked.

"Are you talking about the students or Emma and Killian?"

"Both of them"

"It really is unbelievable how things work out"

"Isn't it? I mean, only weeks before her deadline, Emma told me she was struggling to even finish and now look at her. Class valedictorian, graduating with the highest honours and the undergraduate award for music and performance. How did she do it? I always knew it was in her, but-"

"I know, we both saw her at Crimson Wolf. She was phenomenal, you saw how the audience reacted, they loved her. I think we can all agree that great things are in store for Emma"

"If only she would let them" Mary Margaret mused under her breath.

Emma had told her of how Killian arrived so suddenly at her door on that morning weeks ago, though the details of the event still lay secret between the two. She hadn't told her that her playing her called him to her apartment, how all of her walls, fears and barriers had been broken down before her and how her entire life had played like a film before Killian's eyes. She hadn't told her that that was the piece that she had written her dissertation on, that it was that piece that she had entered for her final. For the days following that morning, they had tiptoed tentatively around eachother, each wary of crossing some kind of boundary, each unsure of what they were anymore. Unsure of how their of online relationship now worked in the physical, real reality. But, as it turns out. It was so much more than either of them expected. Soon, they couldn't go a day without seeing eachother, talking to eachother and suddenly they were inseparable, constantly in eachother's presence so you barely found one without the other. Nothing then everything. Smiles, laughter, friendship, acceptance, love and light and suddenly there was something to live for, something to wake up to, someone to wake up to and spend your day with, share everything with. Someone you knew would listen and love. Someone you knew would be there no matter what stood in their way. Someone to love. And Killian? He eventually made it to work. And what they wanted of him on that early, early morning was beyond all the possibilities that had ran through his mind that day, when his phone lit up the entire room with its offensively bright glow. Well, they wanted to talk to him about a transcript for a new novel they were publishing that was expected to be the next best seller. His.

Yes, he had been working on a novel. Slowly it had come to him, slowly then all at once. A tale about a girl without a name who had captured his heart. A girl with a dreamcatcher and a violin and a window high in the streets of the city that never sleeps. A girl forgotten by society, hidden in the faces of the crowds, who seemed, to him, to glow like the pale light of the Moon in the darkness or the bright light of the Sun through the clouds. A girl hidden, soon to be discovered. A girl with a dreamcatcher weaved with the tears of the dreams she thought impossible, of the kindness and innocence buried beneath layers and layers of fears and regrets and betrayal and how the symbol of hope inside of pain and regret served as a beacon, guiding him through the crowds to her, finally, finally home. Titled, _Where the Light Falls._

But, Emma, Emma had more trouble giving her piece a name. Standing in front of him in the swarming hall filled with her classmates and their families, she still hadn't told him what she had finally called the melody that had called him to her. Her hands shook slightly with nerves as her mind ran through everything that could possibly go wrong in the next few minutes, her pupils expanded as her attention was drawn away to some distant land, staring unseeing above the shoulder of the man stood in front of her.

"Hey" he muttered. Tugging her hands in front of her, gently smoothing out her shivers with small, circular strokes of his thumb, pulling her back to reality. When she met his eyes, he could see the fear there. "You'll be fine, Emma"

"How do you know that Jodg- Killian" she corrected herself, "I'm going to go wrong, I know I will"

"No you won't. And you know how I know that?"  
"Hope? Blind faith?" her eyes flitted nervously around her, avoiding his steady gaze.

"No, because music is you, Emma. It's in your very breath, your very bones. Your music comes from a place that reality cannot touch, cannot taint, cannot alter. There is not a doubt in my mind that you will blow the whole room away, like you did at the bar that night"

"But what if that was a fluke?" she rambled.

"It wasn't" he squeezed her hand, forcing her to meet his eyes.

She met his gaze, and instantly relaxed, seeing the trust, faith and- something else she wouldn't, couldn't name there. She was lucky really, that her professor had decided that, instead of the usual speech done by the class valedictorian, Emma would play. So she had escaped the terrifying prospect of public speaking. But, wasn't this was so much worse, in a way? Emma tried to remember the peace and calm she felt as she played at the Crimson Wolf, the other worldly harmony she felt as she played that fateful piece for the first time that morning. Trying to convince herself that she could do this. Her professor had said that her music said far more than her words ever could, so, for her graduation, she would let the music deliver her speech for her. It was supposed to be poetic, deep, but right now Emma couldn't imagine anything worse.

She could do this.

 _She couldn't do this._

"Emma"

The sound of his voice pulled her from her thoughts once again.

"Stop doing this to yourself, Love. You can do this. This, this is what you were born to do. Everybody knows it. Each person on this planet it born with a purpose. Some find theirs early, some find theirs late, some don't even find theirs until they're on their deathbed. But, Emma, Emma you found yours. Yours is the music that you live and breath. The music that plays forever in your mind and soul. The music that brought me to you. And Emma I-" he bit his lip, "this is what makes you who you are. This is what you were born to do. This is your purpose. So, go up there and let the music take you away. But, Emma, please, don't let it take you too far"

 _From me_ , he added in his head. It had been almost a month since their meeting and since then he had been dancing around his feelings, tripping over the L- word at every corner. And he doesn't think he can keep it to himself for much longer. _Stop it,_ he scolds himself, this day is about her, not you.

" _Never"_

The power emanating behind her voice shocks him back into the present, to the firmness, the promise in her gleaming agate eyes and he is stunned, once more, by her. His voice is almost pulled from him against his will and suddenly he's speaking-

"Emma, I-"

"So, if everyone has a purpose in this world, Killian" Emma interrupts, seemingly not having heard him, "what's yours?"

 _What's yours? Wasn't it obvious? Hadn't she- couldn't she tell from the very beginning?_

"Don't you know, Emma" he half whispered, his low, husky voice ringing with truth, "it's you"

 _It's you._

She, somebody's purpose. It wasn't possible, was it? Never in her life had she been the sole purpose of someone's existence, someone's life. Never had she meant so much to someone. And now, here he was. Killian, previously only an online friend, now turned real and in front of her and loving her, calling her his purpose. His purpose.

Her body moved of its own accord, closing the distance between them, gently touching his lips with hers in a kiss so soft, so feather-light that it almost wasn't there, but at the same time felt so much more. Every nerve in her body sprung to life, feeling his lips touch hers. Their first kiss since that morning and yet it felt like so much more, more than what a second kiss should. Because, in those moments, all of the magic, the purity, the innocence, it all returned with equal passion and fervour and magic and once more those blue and green auras shone behind their eyes. Emma wondered if their kisses would always feel like this. Or if time would dull the sensation of his lips against hers. Because, if Emma knew one thing, this may not be their first kiss, but it certainly wasn't their last.

When she played, her professor announced the name of her composition.

 _Where the Shadows Stay_

And when she played, he felt everything that he had done that morning again. But this time, there was something more. Something different, something new, something that wasn't there the first time. And as her notes reached their final, final peak, he saw it. After all of visions of mountains and treetops and empty rooms and dreamcatchers. After all of the abandonment and heartbreak and loneliness and pain and betrayal. It was unmistakable. Unmissable. And he knew it was there for him. Knew that it was only him, only him that saw her the message spelt out through the sweet melody of sound.

A final, wailing note that held the room in awe.

Resonating, finally, through the room, touching every nerve in Killian's body, every fibre of his soul, evoking every feeling, every emotion in his chest that erupted as the final note sang, filled with love.

 _Story Playlist:_

Iris, The Goo Goo Dolls

Turn to Dust, Wolf Alice

Do I Wanna Know, Arctic Monkeys

Hiding Tonight, Alex Turner

Give Me Love, Ed Sheeran

Wrecking Ball, London Grammar

Waiting for a Friend, The Pretty Reckless

Time is Running Out, Muse

Hopeless, Screaming Females

Wildest Dreams, Taylor Swift

Sing for Absolution, Muse

Just Tonight, The Pretty Reckless

Cherry Wine, Hozier

Blush, Wolf Alice

Silk, Wolf Alice

Track 13, The Wytches

Baby Ain't Made of China, Wolf Alice

Summer Again, The Wytches

Somewhere Only We Know, Keane

So Contagious, Acceptance

Heart, The Pretty Reckless

Piledriver Waltz, Alex Turner

By Your Side, Tenth Avenue North

The Words, Chrisina Perri


End file.
